Scout's Latest Addiction
by Maggot Magnet
Summary: Scout buys a pager and cannot stop texting. Uh oh.
1. Breakfast

_A/N: Some of you may have seen this tale on AO3 before. If so, I'm sorry! I'm just posting this here for my buddies. Enjoy!_

On Monday morning, something very strange happened.

For breakfast, it was Engineer's turn to throw something on the griddle, so he whipped up a big platter of instant pancakes—Scout's favorite. The whole team had soon gathered around the table, chew-talking about new taunts and strategy and the song playing on the radio.

Then, out of the blue, Pyro looked around and announced, "Scmmt'sh mmssng."

Sure enough, he was nowhere to be found in the kitchen, and no one had seen/heard/kicked him earlier that morning. This was entirely unheard of, and some teammates attempted to formulate lame conclusions as to why this may have occurred.

"Could it be he is still sleeping?" suggested Spy.

But that wasn't like Scout. He bolted upright and out of bed almost as fast as Soldier could.

Sniper shrugged. "Maybe runnin' laps."

His theory was plausible, of course. On sunny days, Scout ran laps outside before breakfast, and today was a sunny day. But when the REDs looked out the big sliding kitchen windows, they did not see him anywhere around the track.

The young man skipping a pancake breakfast? Very strange indeed.

So Medic was sent to find out the young man's morning malfunction, 'just in case it was medical' (which was quite a flimsy excuse to choose him as the envoy). "Oh, fine," he had groaned, walking out of the kitchen and into the hallway. He passed door after door, and stopped at the emblem Scout had personally placed over his bedroom's entrance—a paper on which he had effortfully drawn his class symbol, himself wielding a baseball bat, and intimidating letters that read, 'Better Have A Good Reason To Knock, Candyass'.

"Herr Scout, are you awake?" Medic called, rapping on his chamber door.

"Yeah," said Scout's muffled voice, which in fact sounded very awake. "What do you want?"

Medic raised an eyebrow. "It's 7:40. We're all in zhe kitchen eating breakfast. What is taking you so long in zhere?"

After groans and grumbles and a few cabinet-slams, the door opened and there stood Scout: uniform twisted over his stomach, eyes adorned with dark uneven sags, and an odd gadget in his left hand.

Medic winced. "Are you sick?"

Scout stared back at him blankly. "Huh?"

This was too strange. Frowning, Medic reached out to hit him lightly on the arm, making sure he was not an undercover Frenchman, to which Scout stumbled back and grumpily snapped, "Hey, knock it off, bozo." Yes, the boy before him was Scout, in the flesh. Just a very gloomy-looking tired-eyed Scout.

Medic pointed at his gadget and said, "Hmf. What's zhat?"

"None of your beeswax, dat's what," he scoffed, shoving past him. "It's 7:40 already? Jeez. Where's breakfast?"

Medic watched Scout slowly scuttle through the hallway, not noticing he was kneading his rubber gloves together in worried curiosity. "Your breakfast is on zhe kitchen table," said Medic, "which is where it has been for zhe past twenty minutes."

"What's for breakfast?" he muttered, taking another few wobbly steps while pulling out his device to tap on it.

Medic smiled, sure that his next sentence was sure to finally snap Scout back into himself. "Pancakes!" he announced. "Mm-mm. Your favorite, ja? We left you one in zhe kitchen, so hurry, before someone else eats it."

Now before I let you know how Scout reacted to that, I must remind you that Scout is not one for delayed reactions. If you yelled 'heads up' and threw a dozen of eggs at his forehead, he could catch them all in his hands without a single shell harmed. So when Scout froze for a long while like a confused robot, his thumbs tapping spastically on the device, and only then lifted his head to say, "Wait, what? Didn't hear ya", that really spooked Medic.

Pulling on his collar, the doctor said, nervously, "I said it is pancakes. One left for you. Go to zhe kitchen."

"Aw yeah pancakes!" whooped Scout. Unfortunately, in his excitement, he forgot to look up. He started running towards the general direction of the kitchen, still focused on the dark green screen of his clickety device, and thus inevitably slammed himself face-first into an ammunition dispenser.

This was, if you were a deranged sadistic psychopath, absolutely hilarious. Which was why Medic almost choked on his lungs laughing.

But still his doctor was a good sport about it and quietly asked the young man if he was all right.

"Yeah, I'm all right," Scout grunted, snatching his device from the floor. He got up and brushed his shoulder off, called Medic a rude word, and then strolled to the kitchen by himself (with Medic awkwardly trailing a few steps behind him).

"Didn't think you'd be so late, Scout," said Engineer, taking a sip of cocoa. "Aren't pancakes your favorite?"

"You bet," said Scout, grinning as he took a seat at the group table. He was about to reach for his plate, but then froze as he heard a short buzz from his pocket. Ceasing any thought process he had beforehand, Scout immediately he grabbed his device and clicked away on it with both his thumbs.

Spy peered over his shoulder, curious. "Oo. Is zhat some sort of game?"

"No," said Scout.

"May I try...tapping it?"

"No," said Scout.

"Don't bother talking to Scout today, everyone," announced Medic, blowing on his mug of hot cocoa. "He's been grumpy all morning, and all he does is tick-tick-tick on zhat tappy contraption. Anybody know what it is?"

"Mann Co started shippin' two-way pagers," said Sniper who was an avid reader of the catalogues. "Buy-one-get-one-free. Probably gave one to a friend, eh Scout?"

"Yep, a guy back in Boston," said Scout, quite agreeably. "Got it mailed to him."

Meanwhile Pyro was blowing bubbles into the cocoa with a straw. No one paid Pyro any mind, as usual.

Demoman, mouth full of his own pancake, gave Scout a shoulder-nudge. "Man, ye gonnae have that, or...?"

Scout stopped texting to shoot him a sizzling glare. "Do not eat it."

"Well, Ae don't see _you_ eatin' it."

"I see me eating it," said Heavy.

Soldier poked the pancake with his finger disgustedly. "Look at that, Scout. It is already colder than an arctic tundra. You have ruined a perfectly good breakfast meal."

Scout continued typing while giving him an absent groan which could be encrypted into the words, "Alright one sec okay geez can you not."

So naturally Soldier's eyes slid to the odd machinery in the young man's hands. "Oh, I get it. Your privileged machinery-dependent generation is too BUSY playing Mouse In The Maze to eat FOOD!?"

"What da hell is a Mousy Maze?" said Scout, chuckling. "I said I'll eat it in a sec okay geez be quiet already."

The grizzled veteran took this opportunity to describe the completely-true not-imaginary-at-all famines taking place during his own childhood. Every day Soldier had gratefully crunched down broiled sawdust for breakfast, and considered a single grain of sugar to be a fine delicatessen. The closest thing he got to instant cocoa back then was a single droplet of muddy sewer water, and he savored every damn molecule of it!

"IN CONCLUSION," he yelled, "BE GRATEFUL AND DO NOT WASTE YOUR DELICIOUS PANCAKE, YOU SPOILED BRAT!"

Scout let out a huffy sigh at that. "Wastin' pancakes? Who's wastin' pancakes? I said I'm gonna eat it. I just gotta have one more second—"

"HOLD IT RIGHT THERE! Did you just use seconds in a metaphorical sense? That is COMPLETELY UNTOLERABLE! You know why? Because THIS IS THE BATTLEFIELD! AND WHEN WE SAY 'ONE SECOND', WE MEAN ONE!LITERAL! SECOND!" Soldier stood up and yanked Scout's device away to boost it high into the air, then pointed at the pancake. "EAT YOUR BREAKFAST!"

Scout yelped and desperately clawed at Soldier's elbows, gasping, already dependent on his ticky-thing to live. "Give it, Soldier! Give it back, you idiot!"

Demoman burst into laughter. "Hop higher, bunny-boy!"

"My, what a show," said Spy, snickering.

With a grunt, Scout bounced up in his chair and almost snatched it from Soldier, but the man cackled and raised it higher. "C'MON, GIVE IT!" whined Scout, scrambling up from his seat and accidentally slamming his knee on the table in the process, spurring harder laughter from others in the room. All the cacophony in the kitchen grew louder and louder, rowdier and rowdier, until a certain angry Russian could take it no more.

At the boom of his fist slamming the table, everyone immediately froze. Soon after the REDs cautiously turned their heads towards Heavy, with their eyes wide, as the low thwack of hand-against-wood continued to echo through the base.

"Soldier," Heavy growled through his teeth, "give him stoopid toy. Scout, stop being baby. Rest of team, shut up."

"Fine!" Soldier tossed it onto the table, where it clattered against a spoon. "Here's your fancy little typewriter, Christopher Sholes. Now go finish the damn pancake you haven't even started yet. You kids and your fancy telegraphing."

Scout slid his pancake-plate towards himself. "It's called textin'," he muttered before shoving a cold forkful between his teeth.

"It's called YOU have THREE MINUTES to EAT," said Soldier, leaning his head much too close to Scout's ear, "SO HURRY UP!"

A few minutes passed by in silence. The REDs were all considering how detrimental Scout's pager could be in that day's battle, and worrying how the young man would deal with constant technological beguilement all throughout the fights. In truth, they also mentally cursed themselves for laughing and yelling and making animal noises at Soldier's attempt to take the pager away. Had they not caused a ruckus, Heavy would not have told Soldier to give it back; had Soldier not given it back, Scout would have been alert and not texting at the moment; had Scout not been texting at the moment, Scout would immensely enjoy the honor of eating the very last pancake.

As Scout sat there texting with his mouth full of cold pancake, everyone noticed he was chewing boredly like a cow grazing on grass, even though this was his official certified Favorite Breakfast. If the battery-powered distraction nestled under Scout's fingers completely rescinded his ability to enjoy his favorite breakfast meal, there's no telling what it would do to him during the day's Capture the Flag round. Also, what a waste of a last pancake.

"It's strange that Ah never noticed a pager in our catalogue," Engineer wondered aloud with his cocoa in his hands, angling his torso towards the hand-sized contraption. "Say, do ya remember what issue of the Mann Co—"

"Here's _my_ issue," said Scout, shriveling away from Engineer. "It's dat people keep leaning over my shoulder every five freakin' seconds."

"AGAIN WITH THE METAPHORICAL SECONDS!" sobbed Soldier.

There was a short crackle over the intercom, after which the Announcer curtly said that the battle doors will be flinging open in fifteen minutes. Everybody bustled off from their kitchen seats and into the respawn room to pack up supplies, but Scout's thumbs were still ticking away.

And, as we have mentioned before, he was not one of delayed reactions.

Very strange indeed.


	2. Fryzon Triplekill Laser-Blaster 9000

"And since Scout is being a total telegraphing _turd_ today," said Soldier to the rest of the team in the respawn room, " _he_ should be guarding the intelligence."

"What!" yelped Heavy, who is not usually a yelper.

Demoman groaned. "You're kiddin' me, Sol! Look at him. Standin' there with his spindle-legs! He can't defend a bloody trash can."

Medic shot the still-texting Scout a glare, making it a point to heal everyone in the room but him. "He can't defend anything with his eyes glued to zhat health-detrimental thingamabob!"

Pyro, currently spinning around the room, crashed into a wall and thumped onto the floor.

"But we can get Engineer on offense instead," suggested Sniper, not thinking Soldier's plan was too bad. "Switch it up, y'know."

A few other teammates nodded, muttering their agreement in small uh-huh-that's-all-right noises.

"Sounds like a plan," said Engineer, although to him it did not sound like a _good_ plan, but he did not want to argue minutes before the battle started. He nudged Scout with a free elbow. "Can ya do that, kid?"

Scout looked up, blinking his eyes. "Huh? Do what?"

Delayed reactions; once again, not a good sign. Knowing that, the Texan gulped and quietly said, "Guard the intel today."

The young man nodded, then looked down. "All right, sure. Much easier than gettin' da intel, how I always do." Then he stuck his tongue out and texted even faster.

Engineer winced towards his team.

"If it's disastrous," said Spy, poofing into his cloak and out of sight, "we'll think of something."

Then sirens wailed, metal doors flung open, and the battle began.

* * *

Once in the confines of the RED defense room, Scout took a seat on the intel desk, right beside the spinning levitating briefcase. He looked around the room with a sigh, then pulled his pager out.

 _ther makn me defend the intel today...booooriiiiing_

 _lmao_

Scout briefly looked around to check if anybody was trying to kill him. Alas, he was not being attacked at that time. Therefore he proceeded to continue texting his friend. Battle tactics to the max, everyone.

 _soo ... wuts up w/ u ?_

 _nothin. chillin home, watchng sum tv_

 _cool_

 _yaa_

A faraway something panged against metal. Like a bright-eyed ferret, Scout's head shot up, scanned the room, and went back down. Instead of leaping forward to run and investigate, his fingers immediately tapped another message to his buddy back in Boston.

 _i just hrd sumtin, brb_

 _kk_

Scout put his pager in his pocket and walked in a cautious circle around the intel room, peeking into the hallways. "Anybody in here?" he called, which produced an echo back across the basement: _...anybody in here?...in here?..._

Scout had always thought guarding the intel was this stand-here-and-slap-people's-hands-if-they-get-near sort of deal, like making sure little kids don't reach into a bowl of cookie dough. But here was Scout, gulping nervously in the dark, looking around but seeing only creeping shadows. There had always been teammates assigned to keep watch of the briefcase, but this was the first time they'd handed the job to Scout. He had never defended the intel before; he had never realized how scary it was.

Then Scout grinned. Because the scariness wouldn't be a problem at all, as long as he had his trusty—

He patted his side.

He patted his other side.

Crap.

 _hey bro u back yet ?_

That was what the message read when Scout pulled out his buzzing pager. Ducking into the corner of the room, he hurriedly sent a cry for help, by texting his friend who was over a thousand miles away.

 _dude im havng an emergncy wat do i do! i forgt to brng my guns b4 the battle im such a frickin idiot wat do i do wat do i do?!_

 _uhhhh wait this is a legit battle ? not traning_

 _yea_

 _o ok. can't u try to beat them up w/ ur hands or somthng?_

 _dude wtf they have rocket launchrs n shit !_

 _lmao ur screwed_

Scout jumped at the feel of metal to his ear. "Peekaboo," said a voice.

Oh joy. Scout gulped and slowly put his pager in his pocket. Time to rack his brain for a master plan to get out alive.

It was Spy who walked around the young man, laughing, his gun still centimeters from Scout's cerebrum. "My goodness. What idiot assigned you to defend?"

"I did," he said, sweating profusely. "'Cause g-guess what? I got da most kickass new weapon you never even heard of. It's from da new update. It's called da Fryzon Triplekill Laser-Blaster 9000. So if you don't wanna get teleported to an alternate dimension, ya better skedaddle yer ass."

Spy's eyes bulged out. "Really?"

"Yeah, no joke," said Scout.

The Frenchman shrugged, keeping the gun aimed to Scout's head, and decided to make casual conversation. "It's like zhe Righteous Bison, I suppose?"

"Exactly, but much deadlier," he assured him.

"Market price?"

"Uh...13 ref."

Spy raised his brows. "Mmm. Not bad. May I see it?"

Scout pretended to lift something from the desk. Then he heftily raised up his empty hands. "Here it is," he said, pausing for a little while. "Except obviously it's invisible to da other team. Like da Emperor's New Robe, y'know."

Spy squinted.

"Better back off or I'll shoot," warned Scout.

They stood there for a little while after that, listening to faraway computer beeps, feeling very awkward.

"You really think I'm stupid, don't you?" asked Spy, quite bitterly.

"What do yo—"

A few seconds later, a bullet exploded through Scout's forehead, and the intel was already halfway up the stairs.


End file.
